


Claudia

by fleshkin



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Character Death, F/M, Kissing, M/M, That's it, Touching, minimal Scott involvement
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-06
Updated: 2016-07-06
Packaged: 2018-07-21 23:21:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7409218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fleshkin/pseuds/fleshkin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A small drabble about Claudia, Stiles and Derek. Lyrics in italics are from Sea Wolf's 'The Garden That You Planted'.</p><p>edit: did some minor editing. anyone who would like to be my beta message me please!!!!</p><p>edit: ahaha more editing because i am never happy with this. may or may not expand this into a series, who knows.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Claudia

Stiles knew that they met at the park. Where his mother took her daily walk, and his father was out on a new patrol route. She dropped her sunglasses in the river, and he crept down to the muddy banks to get them for her.

Stiles tried often to imagine what they said to each other. What were the first words they exchanged? Or did they, one seeing the other, approach with kissing eyes, hearts already open to embrace and hold?

He never quite got all the details, but he knew that his dad begged the department, did everything including taking every night shift to get that route for the next three years.

 

_I think about you  
Maybe more than I should_

 

She told him that there were always shades to everything. Shades of color, shades of truth. “The more people that get involved, the more something becomes … what do they become?” she'd prompt. He would pretend to be annoyed after the first few times, and give her a stony stare that she'd come to expect at her jokes. After a few minutes she'd exclaim “SHADEY!” like it was a giant victory, her mouth wide in an ecstatic smile.

She loved silly jokes like that, and he grew to (secretly) love them too. But too often her mouth was much smaller, drawn tight in thought and concentration, and later worry and sadness. Towards the end, it thinned out into a wan line, too long to turn up or down. Soon every line in her body became too long and too tight, until finally they released her and she left him forever.

 

_I picture you out there  
It must be beautiful this time of year_

 

The secrets they kept began at a young age. She spoke to him in a different tongue when his father was not around. They would take walks together and she would tell him stories of every plant and animal as if they had magical abilities, capable of speaking and becoming his friends. Eventually she taught him how to speak to them too. Sometimes she would tell him tales of the past, of lands far away and people he was born too late to meet. He hung onto every word, perhaps knowing already that they would be all that he would have left of her.

These confidences made their union nearly unbreakable, sometimes to the exclusion of his father. He knew his father was not like them; there was something in their veins that did not flow in his. But it made no difference in whether or how much Stiles loved them; they were each of them his parents and his guides, though for vastly different worlds.

Yet his mother's words always implied that he could never speak of it to his father. Whatever she told him, it was not only beyond his ken, but also a secret between them and them only. Once, when he was five, she taught him how to make his marigolds stay golden despite the cloudy fall weather, and how to make his father's peas shoot up almost overnight with dozens of lanky tendrils.

“This is only between us,” she whispered in his ear as she guided his hands. “Don't tell your father.”

That was the first time Stiles learned to keep a secret.

 

_But rest it rarely comes  
And when it does I cannot go home_

 

The day he began to notice a change was the day he started middle school. He had met Scott for the first time, and he was so excited to tell his mother about it that he didn't notice anything wrong.

He still wishes that he could've seen that there _was_ something wrong: she was sitting in the kitchen but not cooking; she was home but not getting ready to go out; she had only one of her usual series of bracelets on. There were so many signs that Stiles only saw when it was too late, when he was in the hospital eight months later and she no longer cooked, went out, or wore any jewelry.

Maybe if he'd been smarter, she could've taught him faster and he wouldn't be left so alone with only half of what he needed to survive. Maybe if he'd been better, stronger, more resilient, he could've held her hand and given her the strength to fight it.

He wishes he could've grown up faster.

But he knows that neither was possible at the time. He was too young, he knew too little. What little he could've done wouldn't have made a difference.

 

_And everyone around me's changed  
But the garden that you planted remains._

 

Once, he told Derek about her. It was during their honeymoon period (or “fucking moon”, Lydia would say with a saw-toothed smile because he still hadn't moved out of their 2-bedroom and the walls were “thinner than carpaccio!”). It wasn't long after they met. They weren't doing much talking, to be honest, but it just slipped out one afternoon.

“Her name was Claudia.”

“What?”

Stiles leaned against the kitchen doorway. Derek had been putting away the remains of the frozen pizza they had devoured after round three (or six) of their weekend together. So far it had been spent completely in Stiles' bedroom, with them leaving only to shower and eat.

Stiles had been watching Derek admire the herbs blooming on their kitchen sill. Blooming was a bit of an understatement. They spilled over onto the sink actually, resplendent in shades of deep and neon green. Lydia always said they could create their own herbs-only CSA using those plants.

“My mother. She always had a green thumb. I guess I do too.”

Derek's pale eyes widened as he listened, then lowered to the plants again. He was wearing loose grey sweatpants and had bedhead and at least three days worth of stubble. He took one last sniff at the lemongrass, then padded up to Stiles with a soft smile. When they faced each other, Stiles couldn't help noticing that Derek's eyes were a swirl of greens: pine, viridian, laurel, and fern.

Derek dipped his head, as if to ask permission. Stiles nodded, and slowly he led his hands up from Stiles' fingers to his shoulders.

Derek traced the hands down Stiles' chest, feeling every inch with the whisper of a touch that made Stiles shiver. It felt like he was lighting Stiles on fire. Every touch made Stiles' hairs stand on end. Every time Derek kissed him Stiles felt like he was being broken and remade again.

When Derek's fingers reached his neck, the fire ignited. He plunged forwards and captured Derek's mouth in a kiss. 

Moments passed, or hours, Stiles wasn't sure. Their lips moved against each other, tasting and chasing. Stiles didn't care if he breathed or not, as long as he kept on losing himself inside Derek's mouth. When they stopped to finally take a breath, chests heaving, they'd moved to the hallway halfway towards his bedroom. _Where we always end up,_ Stiles thought to himself. 

Derek was desperately clutching Stiles' butt and shoulder, his thumb slowly caressing Stiles' hipbone as Stiles straddled Derek's thigh, a grounding rhythm. But Stiles' hands were already trying their best to slide off Derek's pants. They exchanged a few more kisses until Stiles finally paused and took another look at Derek, into Derek's eyes. He looked mesmerizing, with his scruff and bitten lips. His irises were now deep copper, with lime around the irises threatening to glow werewolf blue.

Stiles wanted to get lost in them forever.

Suddenly Derek untangled their limbs, as if nothing had happened. He took off his pants, turned to give Stiles a wordless look, and started walking towards Stiles' bedroom.

Stiles zeroed in on the movement in his legs, the leisurely stalk of a beast of prey. Derek must have felt his eyes. He was putting himself, naked, for Stiles to see. He stopped in front of his bedroom door and fixed Stiles with a smirk.

“Ready to tell me more secrets?”


End file.
